


The Winter Coat

by martina_fiore



Series: Age Shall Not Weary Them Ver 1. [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hetalia angst, Historical, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Other, WWII, Winter War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-03-09 01:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18907117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martina_fiore/pseuds/martina_fiore
Summary: During the Winter War there were those who left their home never to return, for their fatherland they will fight until their last breath. Tino Väinämöinen did not want to die but he did not want to be left behind either. Tino's encounter with a Swedish volunteer did not change his fears but it did console him to have a reliable friend during the war.(Russia is here as well but he has a good role, I love all of them and will never antagonize any of them!)





	1. When the Bombs Fell

**Author's Note:**

> Very short story but hope you enjoy it!  
> Actually based on the story of me not being able to go gliding because mom thinks I might die.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hyvästit äiti (Goodbye mother)  
> http://www.rarenewspapers.com/view/583656 - some sources of my info, I'm hoping that a Finnish paper somewhere during that time will have similar headlines ;-;
> 
> Pope Pius XII condemned the Soviet attack on 26 December 1939 in a speech at the Vatican and later donated a signed and sealed prayer on behalf of Finland. (Wikipedia)

**1 Dec. 1939**

“New Air Raid On Helsinki; Soviet Navy Shells Fort!”, this was the only phrase that echoed in the bustling streets of that day in 1939, it was as if time has stood still again. Tino shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered quickly to avoid the sunlight, thoughts assailed his mind, ‘Finland declared independence in 1917’. A year of fighting, a hundred years would make no difference in the eyes of mankind, this glorification of sacrifice made his stomach churn and pointless anger boiled in his heart. What can one do after all but be aggrieved?

“Read all about it, come! Come, be the first to know!”, As Tino strode quickly through the throngs of tittering women and their unruly toddlers, a child no older than eight waved a newspaper in front of his eyes, hoping to catch his attention with the bold words ‘ Stalin attacks by air, sea and land ’ imprinted audibly on the pages as if screeching to be heard. “I’ll take one!.” Tino flicked the lad a coin and took his paper good, scanning the words in front of his eyes, the situation they were in was as ridiculous as he had remembered of any other wars. His hands gripped tighter onto the flimsy paper as he gazed at the pictures of Helsinki burning, fire was unnaturally dull in the blurry prints, tall buildings were razed to the ground by Soviet bombs.

Distracted by the paper, Tino did not notice as a tall man crashed into him, sending him stumbling across into a moss covered wall. “What the bloody hell!!”, Tino caught sight of an unruly mess of blonde hair from under his assailant’s pillbox cap and a glint of glasses reflecting the sun rays, the man didn’t even look back instead briskly running away grumbling back an insincere apology in an incomprehensible accent. “Sorry about that!”.

Tino furrowed his brows, the expression looking foreign upon his youthful face but he shrugged off his irritation, propelling himself off the wall even as the side of his face ripped off a layer of moss, “Damned be this country. Just because a war just started now everyone is attacking each other.”Tino kept his head down as he neared the cul-de-sac leading into his house, the sky was a hazy amber now as the hour became later and the wind dropped to a tranquil breeze that grazed at the itchy scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.

 

Tino slapped the newspaper onto the kitchen table as he pushed through the door, slamming it shut to block out the freezing draught. His mother’s voice spoke loudly from the kitchen, “Stop destroying the house Tino!”

“Sorry ma, but I think there’s going to be a war!”

“What?! Where?” His mother bustled loudly as the jug she was holding dropped to the floor, water spilling over the wooden floor, staining it a deeper hue like blood.

“The Soviets just shelled Helsinki, I’m not sure if anyone is dead…The paper was very vague about it”, Tino spoke softly as he struggled to contain his fear. Tino’s mother rushed out from her retreat and put the paper close to her nose to read the fine print.

“Good lord, oh no...oh no…Your aunty, your cousin…”her hand shook as the crinkling paper became scrunched in her hands.

“Ma, don’t worry…. I’m sure they’ll be alright! We just have to pray and hope.”

His mother willed her breathing to slow and eventually murmuring, “Yes we do”.

Tino wanted to marched out with his father when the rally came to his hometown two days after the official report, the breath of Ylläsjärvi held in anticipation and the town people stirred with hushed whispers. Their family in Helsinki was safe, if not shaken up. Tino’s mother thought he was too young to go, or to actually do anything. In the heart of a mother she has fear to comfort her. Fear does not condole.

Society clearly thought differently, boys no older than seventeen and too eager to get out of the tedious town life began to pack their belongings, their mothers sewed back their tardy winter coats that was torn because they were only boys.

“You’re only seventeen and the animals aren’t going to feed themselves!” She chided him when Tino pleaded his father with promises he couldn’t keep.

“I won’t even have to hold a gun, I’ll just be a messenger. Please father!” Tino was not one to raise his voice and he didn’t raise it now even as frustration overtook him.

His father shrugged his shoulder and bade them both a goodbye without giving Tino an answer. That was his father’s way of saying _“Try again later!” ._

Tino griped under his breath, folding the clothes more forcefully than needed and he went to bed that night refusing to eat his mother’s cooking.

As Tino lay under the cover on his warm bed he realised that his mother was right, he wouldn’t be of any use fighting but being a messenger or medic were things he could do to help. He will not sit there while the enemies rampage through his homeland, even the Holy Father in Rome condemned the act. Tino slid to the side of his bed and pondered quietly on how he could convince his mother, his hands tapping out a tune against the wooden bed posts. Feet heavy as he opened his bedroom to find his mother sobbing over something she was darning on her lap, her hands shivered from the cold despite a bright fire roaring from the corner of the living room. Tino’s heart sank at the thought of upsetting his mother.

“Ma...I’m sorry,” Tino began unsure of how to continue, “....Ma I have to go, please! I want to make you proud…”

“I know dear, I know,” His mother’s loving eyes dawned on him and she smiled tenderly at him behind the tearful gaze, beckoning him to come closer, “I wanted to make you this before you go.”

“Ma you don’t have to!” Tino’s emotions flooded out in that moment and his knees gave way as he embraced his mother with all the love he possessed in his heart. Why was his mother so kind?

“My little Tino, I still remembered when you were shorter than me stealing all those pastries. How you’ve grown…”

“I love you so much ma.”

“I love you too Tino,” She kissed his head as a blessing for his journey, praying that her boy will return.

He left home two weeks later, much to the dismay of his mother. The winter coat she was making for him was nowhere near finished. That’s alright, Tino will finish it himself.

It was the winter of 1939 that Tino sat on the train, speeding through the languid countryside of Finland towards his new posting as a Private. The wooden carriage clattered as the luggage pummeled each other and the men sat in groups initiating small talks as if they were old friends. A group of older men warily stared at him as if persistently expecting for the bombshell to drop when Tino realised that war was not for boys who dreamed of being heroes, he only knew too well.

Tino knew he didn’t belong with the brave men and boys from his village, his arms trembled during training while machine guns and grenades frequently slipped from his fingers. Tino’s built was slight rendering him to the role of  a sniper or a messenger, the latter he was content with. With the going down of the sun and in the morning he would clip on skis and barrel his way through the isolated, blanch landscape. Desolate, bare trees hung in swooping tresses of distasteful tendrils, the lack of a saccharine smell made him long for home where he would spend his days in his father’s bakery stealing the specially made Swedish pastries or helping his mother with the new crop of potatoes.

 


	2. The Hanged Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of background: Based on the battle of Raate Road a major victory for Finland, there might be some factual inaccuracies but it is very subjective. Read about the Sausage ambush! Also listen to the song Raatteentie - Korsuorkesteri!  
> ** Also the song "Kauan on Kärsitty" may not have actually been sung during the war but the lyrics were brilliantly perfect:  
> Translation (can be found online): 
> 
> If our bodies die, our souls remain  
> a heritage for our beloved fatherland.  
> Oh precious fatherland, Finland the sweet North  
> There's no land more dear to us.

**10th Dec. 1939**

After the bare minimum training he was sent to Suomussalmi with the 9th Division, composed of men from all different walks of life. Tino met a man who used to be a fisherman near Helsinki whose family was killed during the bombing, the man was partially deaf due to the tragedy but not once did Tino see a hint of sadness in the man’s eyes. He called himself Armo, meaning ‘mercy’ or ‘grace’ but the man guffawed at his awful luck when he told Tino his name, Tino couldn’t understand why Armo would laugh at such a sorrowful predicament, the boy was only scratching the surface of the military’s dry humour.

The 9th Division was split into four squadrons, Tino being a messenger was not apart of a specific squadron often traversing between squadron Mandelin and Mäkiniemi who were working closely to eliminate the threat at Haukila where Soviets troops were stationed.

When he was not delivering intels Tino was busy burying mines with another boy around his age named Tapio. They wondered why they were chosen for the task when there were professionals within the ranks, both assumed that the superiors would’ve have shrugged if one of them accidentally set off a mine killing himself.

“Say Tapio, what do you want to do after the war?” Tino huffed as he pushed the snow-filled shovel away from the hole.

“Huh, really this question?” Tapio deadpanned and took his time pondering as Tino dug through the earth, “I’d wanna marry a pretty lady and become a potato farmer, what about you?”

“Probably a baker just like my pa,” Tino shrugged and placed the mine in the hole quickly covering his work with snow, he took out a map and marked where the new set was placed.

“A bit of chub on you will make all the ladies swoon,” Tapio frowned testily, teasing poor Tino.

“Woah you think so?”

“I know so Tino, now let’s get back before they eat our rations!”

“Mhm.”

Tino wasn’t sure if the family tradition was for him, the boy had his dreams locked away in a small attic in an obscure corner of his mind. All those moments wondering about resplendent places that could only exist in dreams, this was when Tino wished he could travel to see the rest of the world, yet the locks to the attic was dusty as he had to compromise with reality. Tino sighed as he sat down at the circle of singing comrades. Their voices hoarse from lacking rations but it remained strong and proud.

* _Jos ruumiimme kuolee, niin sielumme jääpi_

_perinnöksi armahan syntymämaan._

_Oi kallis kotimaa, Suomi sulo Pohjola,_

_ei löydy maata sen armaampaa._

 

* * *

 

**30th Dec. 1939**

Was there ever anything more beautiful than Finland? It’s graceful rivers weaving through fertile lands, now frozen under the spell of winter. The people’s lifestyle adapted to the change in season in bountiful peace and the rushing river continued its path under a new road of ice, snowflakes deserting the sky to bless the land in a blanket of white. A fresh scent caught his nose and it wasn’t the few water vapours evaporating, it was harsh and demanded vengeance, this scent shouldn’t have belonged to a man with the way it screamed agony. He had not been on the battlefield long enough to recognise it at a whiff.

Tino didn’t want to know or to see what he was anticipating but there in front of him was the battalion of mutilated Russians that his own people ambushed, while he was delivering the message of the unexpected mission. Sometimes Tino questioned the morality of his Captain, these people were once alive to sing and laugh with their family, now they lie dead under a foreign sky so close to home. How unfortunate were they whose blood was now as good as next year’s fertilizer. Tino wanted to smack himself for conjuring up such disrespectful thoughts as he realised that he would have to help bury the bodies later to avoid an epidemic.

The boy cautiously strapped his skis to his webbings and began treading in the covers of elongated trees back to his base when the sound of a groan caught his ears. The noise was almost undetectable, yet to Tino who’s paranoia caught on to the pained groan, it was a sign of danger. He took cover hastily to lie flat against the snow, the thin camouflage sheet blanketing his figure as his eyes skimmed the chaotic scene, focused on finding the source.

What seemed like centuries passed until he saw movements from a supposed corpse, covered in standard Finnish camouflage with a Swedish cap poking from under the hood. The man’s eyes were sunken and his glass sat on top of his nose the frames bent and poking into his skin drawing blood. The bigger injury was from the soldier’s head, the wound still not clotted yet. Tino took a gamble and rushed from his cover to drag the soldier from the masses of corpses, the man’s larger frame proving to be more than a challenge for Tino.

 _"Jumalauta!_ Why did your friends leave you here?"

 


	3. Men down, Man up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter but their meeting pass fleetingly. It's very truncated this story. I'll make it flow more when I get to America.

**1st Jan. 1940**

“Topi, get down you fool!”

Rounds of bullet flew over Tino’s head and he realised that half of the rounds had caught Karhu’s chest. Poor grumpy Karhu, only twenty years old and with the foul mouth of a drunken sailor. They had only celebrated his birthday with a flask of viina* and a few strange tasting näkkileipä a few weeks ago, Karhu had always hated being in the middle of attention and had sworn himself to sleep on his birthday. They all knew that he appreciated their sentiments though because he woke with a smile the next day. Karhu’s name was Topi Laine Kilpela, he went down without a last word, that was at least some small mercies.

“Shit- Man down!” Another rounds of ammunition removed and mechanically replaced by deft hands, the machine gun was overheating and the decrepit odour of gunpowder was overwhelming. Tino swore to recover Topi’s body to return it to his family. If they survive this trial. Just another day.

 One of their machine guns had become too hot to handle and was useless, Tapio pushed the thing away and beckoned Tino to pass him another gun.

 “Goddammit Karhu! There are bullets at bearing ninety degree west, to your left! To your left! Aim there you twat!”

“Wilco Captain!”

“Väinämöinen, where’s Lampi?” Captain Törni crouched next to Tino, hands gripping the barrel of a smoking rifle.

Tapio looked up from where he was manning his machine guns, letting out half a magazine of bullets before yelling over the clamour,”He’s getting us more ammo Captain!”

“But I just got Lakso to run a round!”

“Didn’t drop us any Cap’!”

A soldier by the name of Corporal Peisso Kyllo who was intent on taking down the entire Russian unit with his trusty Mosin Nagant didn’t even look back as he bellowed to them,”Lakso’s dead Captain, got shot three minutes ago.”

“Shit, we’re losing a lot of men. Keep up the good work Väinämöinen!” The captain thumped the ground and leopard crawled to where Peisso was still working on the bolt action, Tino had to admit that Peisso was the greatest sniper in their unit, on the other hand Tino was brilliant at dragging injured men out of bullet’s pathway.

“Medic! Help!” Tino snapped back into action, digging his way through the snow to where the sound was emitted from, the sudden silence from lack of actions became a disadvantage for Tino who required the confusion of gunfire to extract injured men. He hesitantly peek over his cover, the snow mound crumbling from his movements.

 The other side had retreated. It was time to recover the injured and the deceased.

* * *

 

**2nd Jan. 1940**

Berwald gripped tighter onto the flimsy blanket over his frame, inflamed head slowly morphing into putty as the cold gulped away at his already weakened body. He was resting on a scruffy surface that was better than snow but not by much.

“Hallo!”, A disembodied voice with an unfamiliar accent materialized above his head and Berwald started accidentally kicking the man in the side.

"Ow!" Berwald winced hastily retracting his long legs from over the makeshift bedside and opened his eyes slowly.

The voice came from the hand extended from his left, or rather from the blithe man or boy who was smiling so brightly that it looks odd in their context, the more intimidating aspect was that he was towering over Berwald with that imposingly cheerful smile of his. Berwald’s multilingual abilities came to naught.

“Uh what?... wo bin ich gerade...Njet...hur mycket?”, Berwald muttered incomprehensibly, grasping the man’s hand and shook it cordially.

“Do you need more rest? I can fix your dressings later”, Tino asked and replied as he flump onto the seat next to Berwald.

“Mhm, that’ll be nice.”

“Your food is here.'' The simple Swedish phrase slipped pass Berwald’s head as he succumbed to sleep.

 

* * *

**6th Jan.1940**

Tino sat in relative comfort, humming to himself and organizing the medical pack, morphine needles were scattered all over the bottom of the sack. As there had been no attacks in the past four days nor was any of their mines detonated, that meant Tapio and himself will not have to worry about replacing them. The man Tino rescued a week ago sat opposite him, a small gas light lit his face and his face was undoubtedly intimidating. Tino was sure the man didn’t look that angry or threatening when he was lying half dead on the floor.

“Do you like being here? Not in the trenches, I mean in my company. I don’t want to be a bother…”, The tall Swedish volunteer struggled to produce the Finnish words and Tino could not even try to hold in his laughter. The man huffed out a puff of frozen vapour, unsure if he was being mocked by Tino.

“No I don’t mind, it’s lovely to hear a friendly voice after all!” Tino offered a smile to reassure the other man that he meant no offence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand that.” That sentence alone took a minute for the Swede to compose, Tino nodded at him each time he found the correct word. Patience is your best friend, patience will bring you the best of friends.

“I like talking to friendly people, what is your name, friend?” Tino chose commons Finnish words this time, slipping in Swedish in the second half of his sentence. That made the made lit up in surprise mellowing out to a ‘joyful’ expression on his face.

“M’name is Berwald Oxenstierna , what’s yours?”

“ Tino Väinämöinen , nice to meet you,” Tino leant over to grasp Berwald’s gloved hand, the size difference of their hands had them grinning.

“I’m not goin’ ta try pronouncing yer last name!” Berwald’s lip tilted into the slightest of grin, he knew instinctively what Tino was going to say next.

“Well your Oxen ...something or other isn’t that simple either!”

“ ‘cannot deny that.” Berwald sighed in defeat.

Tino eyes lingered too long in the gaze of Berwald so he looked away awkwardly wracking his brains for something else to spark up a conversation.

"So what's your favourite bread?"

"Blåbärkaka."

"Really?! Mine too, my papa make the best blåbärkaka in our village and of course I make pretty good blåbärkaka as well...but mama said that it wasn't that good because I almost burnt the base...at Christmas pa just let me help because the demand is so high " Tino's voice with it's continuous, melodious lilt filled Berwald's mind with images of a home and family he willingly left behind to volunteer for a country that was not his. He smiled content to just listening even if he had trouble understanding the fast spoken phrases. 

If Tino was one of the people he was fight with and for then Berwald did not regret his decision. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Viina is what they call Vodka in Finland.
> 
> I don't really know the Finnish army commands, I only have experiences with the Australian field commands.


	4. Forfeiting My Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of events in which Berwald and Tino faced their trials as soldiers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has been some major changes to earlier chapters and I will continue to expand this story. Some parts of this story came from my fiction from English class last year about a French vampire during WW2 falling in love with fellow Welsh soldier, both were in the British army.  
> Thanks for reading, comments really give me the push to continue! :D
> 
> Thanks to DREVtheProcrastinator for pointing out my misconceptions!  
> There's a slight plot hole, that I can't really fix but; "The cars were reserved for high ranking officers, really, most Finnish soldiers for the most part walked or went with skis on winter. "(DREVtheProcrastinator)   
> So the scene in this story will likely not have happened, I'll take liberty as a writer to make up this scene based on a story I've heard somewhere about during WWII.

**20 .Jan.1940**

This world is bitterly cold where they huddled under a flimsy blanket and camouflage inside their foxhole, it didn’t feel strange sharing such close proximity to a man he hardly knew, it was as if Berwald knew Tino his whole life to lose him and to discover in such unfortunate circumstances.

It was two weeks after the younger man found him half dead amongst a decimated troop of Russians, his comrades assumed he was dead and Berwald didn’t blame them.

Berwald’s numb hands were enclosing a smaller pair, the warmth shared between them was barely enough to keep their fingers on their hands. Berwald could not see well in the dark after his glass has been crushed by his own clumsiness and was lost when Tino rescued him but he gazed up at the sky nonetheless. It is Valhalla up there and the Valkyries are brandishing their swords against the incoming force of winter, felled those who dared to trespass the golden gate. Tyr’s hooked arm hung the scale of justice and the Gjallarhorns were blown to signify their triumph against evil. If only reality was so fantastical where their battleground was.

“GET UP! GET UP!!” A bellow wrenched them both from the ground, Berwald winced as his leg was still not fully healed yet, Berwald hoisting his rifle against his shoulder anticipating from the entrance of the hole. Tino did not take arms.

“Berwald can you see anything?” Tino’s voice shredded the impending silence, he realised that Berwald did not have his glasses handy.

“......”, Berwald did not know how to answer only aiming blindly at the sounds of the aggressor, the snow muffling their movements.

“Berwald?”

“No.”

“I’ll look out for you then. Promised ma I won’t touch the gun.”

Was this then end for them?

“Tino, y’ are better at this than I am, I can’t see anythin’ at night”, Berwald took the discarded rifle and offered it to Tino who physically backed away from the weapon.

“I can’t-”

“Sergeant Oxenstierna! Are you there?”,the shrill voice of his corporal tore him harshly away from Tino’s eyes.

“’m here!” Berwald knocked out the dim gas light as another body landed  in their foxhole. The man stood up and a puff of smoke blew into Berwald’s face, his corporal looked devastated and his trembling hands held the handle of a broken pistol.

“What’s happenin’ Cor’?...”, Berwald faced the panicking man and after a while gripped him by the shoulder to shake him out of fear, “Klas...Klas! Take a breath. ‘re they out there?”. Klas nodded and grabbed his hand to hand Berwald something that glimmered under enclosed fingers.

“Your... glass, I got it fixed,” Klas huffed breathlessly and took the discarded rifle that was meant to be Tino’s, he pointed the gun over the rim of their foxhole waiting for the enemy. Tino whispered a prayer hurriedly, grateful that he did not have to break his promise yet and rolled over to where Berwald was wiping the smudge from his lens.

“Thank you Klas.” Tino whispered at the corporal.

“Huh? No worries Serg',” Klas murmured back not realising who spoke.

The long stretch of silence was suddenly filled by thunderous echoes of gunfire, flashes tore from either side of their shelter. Angry Russian curses poured from behind trees in close vicinity and the wounded groaned loudly, warm blood melting away snow only to freeze after crawling not so far from the body of its owner.

* * *

 

**25th Jan.1940**

Berwald, Vaino Törni their captain and Tino were transporting a hoard of ammunition from a Southern base to further north in the early morning, a veil of morning dew clung onto their clothes dampening their hair and it made it terribly difficult for Berwald to navigate but he persevered.  The dingy utility vehicle crawled along snow-covered road for several minutes longer when the Berwald realised they’ve ended up veering into the wrong turn.

Berwald continued for one or two kilometre before shrieking excruciatingly loud, almost slamming his head onto the steering wheel, “I give you. Tino you live here so you should be driving”.

Vaino jolted from his sleep at Berwald’s shout. “Holy God, you cur! What if we’re in enemy’s territory!?”

Tino exclaimed, “Berwald I haven’t been to this part of Finland in centuries!”

“Lies ah tell yer c’ptain Törni!  ‘e doesn’t even look sev’nteen!”

“ _ Perkele _ ….it’s a figure of speech plus, I. Can. Only. Drive. Tanks.”

“Shut up the both of you! And Oxenstierna try suppressing that accent, I don’t understand you,”Törni clapped them both on their heads from the back seat resuming his actual position as a captain.

He continued to give them instructions,“Väinämöinen it’s like driving a tank, you can try navigating that dashboard. Oxen-whatever you’re gonna try and trace back our position of the map!”

“Yes Captain…”they both muttered leaping out from their seats to switch responsibilities.

Tino stuck out his tongue to mock Berwald but the other man only smirked knowing full well that Tino is one of the best drivers in the unit.

Tino slid into the hard leather bound seats and the cracked material resonated years of being blissfully taken care of by a loving owner, the Tempo G 1200 Vidal terrain car was definitely not meant to be a delivery vehicle even with its powerful engine,  it was simply too cramped to deliver many things. The truth was they ran out of trucks after three foolish privates blew up three different truck by running into enemy’s territory, for some reason all three privates came out of the ordeal unscathed. Tino knew that the eastern border was slowly being swarmed by the Ruskies, pushing the defence line further back everyday. For every Finnish soldier there were more than three Soviets against him.

Planes have no doubt improved from when the Wright Brothers first took flight, the Soviets for all their cruelty was blessed with innovative intelligences that would prove them a difficult opponent for the rest of the war and the sheer production power.

The people were fleeing their homeland with nothing to remind them of home so Tino actually had doubts that the army could hold back the Russians for the rest of the war even with the help of the Nordic volunteers.

 “Private Tino! What are you doing?” Captain Törni kicked the back of his seat breaking Tino out of his trance and allowing him to press on the gas pedal shooting the trio forward, bumping loudly against loose gravel. “Ah yes! Sorry I was thinking Cap’!”

“Why did they let a child join the army? ”

“Why did they let a drunkard lead a detachment?” Berwald shot back without looking up from the maps and covered his mouth as if realising his insolence.

Vaino adjusted his cap and blinked off his surprise for a jiffy before closing his mouth, he looked as if he wanted to punch Berwald but his stature gave him a disadvantage over the Swedish man, “I’ll have you know…”

“Hey, hey. I think we’re near a town…”, Tino tapped Berwald’ shoulder and pointed at the small village outline in the distance.

“Woah, he’s aight! Maybe they know their way around here!” Berwald exclaimed his blue eyes glimmered at the prospect of asking for food from the villagers.

“Put on your helmets anyways, we want to look professional.” Even Vaino sounded close to ecstatic as he dumped their rusty helmets on their heads. Tino pulled through the village entrance and sniffed the air intently, there were people gathered in the middle of the squares and the smell of food tainted the country breeze. All seemed heavenly as a lost Wader chirped on the oak trees when they rolled passed, the poor thing shouldn’t be here in this cold winter.

Little cottages glimmered in the afternoon sun as if stolen straight from a picture book. The serenity of the village was too close to the quiet town of Ylläsjärvi , bare trees rose like towering fortress built for the army of birds that gathered in flocks during spring, it was now empty and desolate as trees with their harsh branches stood stark against murky grey skies.

Tino couldn’t help as a tear rolled down his cheeks as memories gathered in the recesses of his mind and folk songs of Ylläsjärvi resounded, like tinkling chimes resonating from recollections present only months ago, these carried by sympathetic angels whose purpose could be to mock or to comfort a homesick boy like Tino.

_  Nuku, nuku nurmilintu, _

_ Väsy, väsy, västäräkki. _

_ Nuku nurmelle hyvälle, _

_ Vaivu maalle valkiall _

Berwald seemed to notice this and debated whether he should ask if Tino was alright, he himself was aching to hand Tino his hanky to wipe away the tears that rolled down from Tino’s absent-minded eyes, Berwald’ other hands gripped the map painfully tight, it was upsetting for any soldiers to be reminded of their home, to be reminded of the looming threat of foreign soldiers dominating their homeland. As if noticing Berwald, Tino quickly turned away and pressed the gas pedal pulling closer to the town square.

“Oi, I can 'ear them singing and talking!”, Vaino whispered from behind, leaning in closer to the front of the car squinting expecting that to help his blind eyes see any better.

“Good for them honestly, to be able to be so happy during a war.” Tino shrugged smiling slightly.

“I m’not be a Ruskie but I jus’ hearda ‘долбаный идиот!*’ and I’d know Finns don’t speak Russo-lang’eg anymore...” Berwald lowered his voice and reverted back to his unusual way of speaking as he said this. That was when Tino pulled right in front of a unit of Red Army soldiers who were in the middle of the square cooking canned beef on top of a lit bonfire built in an empty fountain.

Some of the Russians were sitting on chairs taken from the from the porch of abandoned houses, diligently cheering at a group of soldiers kicking a cloth bundle to imitate a game of soccer. “JUMALAUTA!”, It took Tino, Vaino and Berwald altogether five seconds to catch up to reality and realised that this was a Soviet conquered territory and it took the Ruskies one second extra to drop their pans to start yelling, “дерьмо! Они здесь, чтобы убить нас! Хватайте ружья и готовьтесь к драке!” 

*“Få ut ur här. Kör nu!” Berwald hollered, slapped Tino’s helmet struggling to not hyperventilate, at the same time tugging at a loose thread in the leather seat. “Saatanaaaaa!”

“Fanculo, Dio mi salvi!” Vaino started spurting some languages that none of the people present in the situation could understand.

“Jumalauta!”, Tino stomped on the reverse pedal and twisted to turn around to see where he was going almost reversing through the door of the cottage.

“Halt bastards!” A blonde soldier whose hair resembled a forked haystack took aim at Tino and actually shot him quite accurately only to be deflected by the tilted helmet he was wearing, the bullet’s angled impact actually pushed Tino’s head backward abruptly against the headrest, smoking wisping from the dent the bullet created. Tino reached into his shirt and threw the first thing he found at the man, it was a packet of sausage...that he stole from Berwald for being slightly annoying.

The blonde soldier stopped as the chocolate smacked him in the face and as the trio reversed straight out of town faster than any Spitfires could travel, he picked up the paper wrapped sausage and murmured,”...спасибо….”

They finished delivering the equipment and shared their wild encounter to the other soldiers. Tapio shook his head disapprovingly and commented, “It was your driving that probably saved them all!”

“No t'was th’ sausage.” Berwald spoke up, his eyes flicking to Tino knowing that it was his chocolate bar Tino threw.

Tino felt his face growing hotter being caught after the act and in front of so many others as well, he didn’t understand Berwald’s tendency to ignore social etiquettes. Tino was going to apologise later.

“Um...ah...yes.”

“Sausage?” Tapio looked at Tino questioningly.

“He chucked packet of dried sausage at th’ Ruskies and they say thanks. Sacrificed 'is ration ta save us. Thanks Tino.”  

Tino looked questioning at Berwald’s seemingly expressionless face but was relieved when he noticed the smallest smile resting on the corner of Berwald’s lips.

Why was Berwald not angry at him? Any food was a treasure on the battlefield even if those ration may break one’s teeth if they do attempt to eat it. Tino was seeing Berwald in a completely new light and there was something nagging in his head as he stared at the Swedish soldier.

Both of them were determined to ask Captain Törni about his Italian skills later.

-

Berwald came back to their campsite later that day to find Tino curled up next to a wooden crate, his sobs barely concealed by a white cloth around his face, his hands fumbling with the bolt of the rifle. There was no one to comfort the boy, not even Tapio noticed Tino missing from the fire centre as they cheered to another victory, boisterously singing heartfelt hymns.

Berwald walked closer to the other boy and placed his hands over Tino’s trembling, bloody ones. Berwald eased the wretched weapon out of Tino’s hands and sat next to him. They were only boys after all, were they allowed to be afraid?

“Berwald, I shot a man today. I shot so many men. How can God forgive me?” Tino mumbled words that he kept repeating, it was a chant that the Swede could not comprehend but Berwald wound his arms around his friend and allowed him to cry into his coat.

_ ‘Gud hjälper oss båda...Jumala auttaa meitä molempia.’ _

The pungent smell of blood urged Berwald to move back and pull down Tino’s scarf, the left side of his face was bleeding from a bullet graze the blood was frozen in their streams.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” Berwald asked Tino softly as to not alarm him, his own hands began shaking at the thought of how close he was to losing his friend.

“It’s only a graze, they didn’t kill me. Nothing...nothing to worry about.”

Berwald placed a gentle hand on Tino’s cheek and brushed his thumb to tuck Tino's blond locks into his hat, everything was soft and subtle even the gas light illuminating the dirty walls of the trench, his vision was blurred until Berwald could only see Tino’s face with his large eyes half concealed by elegant lashes. He drew the other into a tight hug, whispering harshly, "D'n't scare me like th't please, take care!"

Tino nodded and returned the embrace with the same amount of emotion and when Berwald pulled away it was when he finally took into consideration into the other man’s appearance. Tino’s eyes was a blue that radiated clarity of the Baltic Sea, perhaps more cerulean and purple at different angles. His smile was different than others as if he tries holding back his smile only exposing the teeth on the right side. Tino’s nose was petite but sharp and his hair glowed golden, a gold tainted by silver under the amber light gleaming from dimly lit gas lights. Under his right eyes were three small moles which in Georgian time would be desired by the French court ladies, they simply looked like twinkling stars.

Berwald froze unexpectedly and screamed internally in a mixture of Finnish, Swedish, English and German,  _ 'Oh shit. I'm in love with him.' _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone realised, Captain Vaino Törni is based on real Finnish military legend Lauri Törni, I recently did a whole history analysis on this guy and he was an exemplary leader in my opinion.
> 
> Another song I will suggest is "Kremlin Uni" - a Finnish anti-Soviet song, the tune is very catchy and so is the lyrics. 
> 
> The translations!  
> Perkele- Devil
> 
> Nuku, nuku nurmilintu, .... This was a folk song for young children, translating to  
> Sleep, sleep meadow bird,  
> Tired, tired, wagtail.  
> Sleep well in the grass,  
> Drift into the white land.
> 
> долбаный идиот- Fucking idiot (or something like that)  
> JUMALAUTA- God help me!  
> дерьмо. Они здесь, чтобы убить нас! Хватайте ружья и готовьтесь к драке! - Shit! They're here to kill us. Get your guns!)  
> Få ut ur här. Kör nu - Get out of here, drive now!  
> Fanculo, Dio mi salvi! - Fuck, God save me  
> спасибо - Thanks  
> Gud hjälper oss båda...Jumala auttaa meitä molempia.’- God help us both...God help us both


	5. When the Planes Came

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Säkkijärven Polkka' was a popular song during wartime, the song has a fascinating story to it! It was used to jam Soviet Bombs from detonating due to the frequency and allowing the soldiers to defuse them safely, played along with another song over many months until over 1000 bombs were successfully defused.

**2nd February 1940**

January scampered along with death as it’s liege and stole the innocent lives of thousands. Far away in Northern Finland families were torn apart by the invading Russian armies and closer to the border Tino’s father commanded his own unit but his career was ruined when a bullet caught his lower spine, Tino’s father returned home on a wheelchair as his son hid under a layer of thawing snow, taking the lives of men silently with his precise aim. But February did not bring the end of the war as all had hoped, prayed for. Newspapers reporting on the dire situation still flew in muddy streets trampled by children who played witlessly in a changing world. Even Tino’ buoyant attitude sank by February when they were posted at Summa , each day was dimmer than before, the radios that played their favourite ‘Säkkijärven polkka’ was routinely disturbed by broadcasts of what they’ve all heard before. ‘Eastern platoons losing men, more tanks destroyed than produced’ or ‘the last Swedish fighter plane has been shot down’.

All the men’s faltering hope dampened and Berwald could only yearn to return home. As the 3rd Division’s units began retreating in advance, some of the Soviets have already begun crossing the rivers onto the bank where their division was stationed, many perished in the first wave from the onslaught of bullets embedding itself like leeches, so eager to draw blood.

Marching from Raate Road to their new posting, the smaller unit was caught Soviet planes bombing the surrounding forest despite their natural cover. Multitudes of Tupolev planes soared over the cowering men, even in his thickly bandage bound head, Tino’s ears could hear the engines puttering aggravating the peace of Finnish marshland. Captain Törni shouted hastily for them to take cover and to abandon the carts and horses carrying ammunition. Berwald pulled Tino away from an exploding bomb moments before the shrapnel pierced the tree behind his previous position.

Berwald held onto Tino, shielding the other’s body ready to protect him from falling debris should the- 

The series of explosion was earsplitting, undiluted shrieks of injured boys and men alike rose and fell in ripples, the ground rumbled and glass erupted in cascades of sharp rocks and tumults of crumbling earth.

Sometimes there would be moments of silence that was more terrifying than any noise could be. The whistling gusts that trailed the planes rip through the trees one last time and the dwindling sound of sputtering was carried to God knows where, perhaps their next target, a city or another platoon.

“Ey Tino, I really h’pe this isn’t our last moment t’gether.” Berwald  turned to Tino, his aqua eyes has fallen wearily and his lips was upturned in a smile that was forced. 

“I sure hope not as well, it would be rather awkward to die like this,”Tino murmured glancing down to where their legs lay in a tangle as they had been since the first bomb fell. Their hands were still gripping each other’s khaki jacket tightly and there was an imprint of Berwald’ medals on Tino’s face where Tino was resting against the Berwald’s chest. 

“Ah yes...I’ll....move.”

“Yer don’t h’ve to Tino,” Berwald loosened his grip and brushed the dirt and debris from Tino’s cheek, his usually grim face was glazed over with conflicting emotions as Tino pulled further away from him. To which Tino huffed and stated, “We don’t have a choice Berwald, we’re moving again.”

“Oh…,” Berwald cursed at himself internally, he knew what these kind of behaviours were bound to result in within the army, he could not under any circumstances allow his feelings to undermine his friendship with Tino, no matter how difficult it was.

None of the men were grievously hurt during the attack and it was a miracle that the Soviets even saw them under the thick foliage of tall evergreens, however their cart of ammunition was damaged  from the rearing horses sending the supplies tumbling down the steep cliff. 

Berwald stood up unsteadily, befuddled as if a thick fog had wrapped itself around his  vision and would not disperse no matter how hard he shook his head. Berwald turned to Tino and he could see the other’s lips moving but no words reached his ears. 

“Berwald, Berwald! Can you hear me?” Tino tried louder, holding the back of Berwald’s head but gasping at the wet, sticking feeling that came into contact with his fingers. Berwald’s head was struck by a piece of rock blown from the explosions and somehow it had managed to get under his helmet. The man was bleeding profusely as Tino tried to hold in the blood with his hands, blood that was Berwald's lifeline leaked away and drawing a sickly pallor on Berwald's already too pale skin. It was overflowing, each drop that fell to the ground the splatter that it made before earth soaked away the ichor, it was all that Tino could see and in his shock Tino did not know what to do. His reflex tight and vision closed.

_What can he do?_

_What should he do?_

_What?_

Berwald’s eyes began closing, unable to support himself and finally Tino’s brain clicked into action. 

“Tapio! Captain Torni! Someone help!” Tino screamed out, confused as to why no one had noticed.

“What’s wrong Tino?” Tapio was the first to respond, dropping his rucksack to run over to Tino, his quick observation of the copious blood on Tino’s uniform and Berwald’s slumped body against Tino’s small frame spurred him into action, pulling Berwald's body from Tino to even out the weight between them.

Tino tried keeping his breath steady but it was unlike other situation because for once, he was close to losing the person he cared for the most in their damned platoon. The other soldiers began crowding around them. 

“Väinämöinen you’re the medic here, focus soldier!” Captain Torni’s voice tore through his confusion and Tino could feel bandages being forced into in fingers. Berwald was propped up on a makeshift pillow so Tino’s training took over. 

Tapio and a few other stayed around their vicinity as Vaino declared a stop overnight to recover all their lost supplies. 

Tino hands did not shake as he removed the blunt rock embedded not too deeply in Berwald’s neck, narrowly missing the spinal cord, they did not shake when he cleaned off the blood from his hands and from Berwald’s skin. They did not shake as he applied morphine and sewed back the gap that was more of a flesh wound and bounded Berwald’s neck with a thin layer of bandage since they were running out of medical supplies. His hand was steady even when tending to other soldiers late into the night.

His hands only shook when he held them over Berwald’s own as he kept sentinel over the wounded soldiers away from the fire.

Tino hoped that none of the other soldier’s were awake when he bent closer to whisper into Berwald’s ears, Tino’s breath slipping hastily spoken words that had been lingering in the recesses of his mind in the past few days, for Berwald to hear like a secret that was to be the downfall of both of them.

“Minä rakastan sinua, Berwald.”

* * *

 

Perhaps 16 years ago or somewhere along that time span, Berwald saw his first shooting star while sitting on the arms of his father, this was at the age of three. It had bursted in brilliant light around the crown of the sky lighting up the midnight blanket that was navy and that had sparked in him the joy of looking up at the sky every night to see if he could catch another shooting star. 

At the age of seven Berwald was told by his classmates that if he wished upon a shooting star, then his wish would be granted, of course at that naïve age he believed wholeheartedly and begged his parents to take him to the highest hills in town to stargaze and his father encouraged this endeavour while his mother was skeptical at this newfound hobby. It was on that night atop the tallest hill that Berwald sent his first wish to the stars, perhaps it was destiny that a meteor shower was scheduled that day and once again a corona of sparks flashed before his eyes like a kindling that was supplied with a redundant supply of oxygen, this was when Berwald muttered under his breath while crossing his fingers for an extra ounce of luck. Berwald’s father noticed this and smiled radiantly, glad that his son had acquired the same habit as his when he was younger, his father patted Berwald’s head before asking, “What did you wish for Ber?”

“Just for a good friend who will be with me forever!”

“Hey! What about me?”

“umm...You’re my friend but you’re too old dad!” Berwald looked flustered not understanding that his father was joking.

“Don’t worry, you’re my friend too. I hope you have the dearest friend when you’re older.”

They watched the stars for a while long, atop that Swedish hills. Swans swam in the pond beneath the hill’s wake and the reflected starlight glimmered heavenly in the water.

The pair trudge back home rather reluctantly for their home was truly in the stars that glimmered and fall in the span of eons, that night when Berwald went to sleep he gazed eastward to where Mars shone the brightest and repeated his wish once more to whoever would listen.

Slowly the memory or dream slipped from Berwald’s grasp as the pain which was a dull thud became sharper, he could tell that he was gaining consciousness due to being knocked out frequently during the war. Before he opened his eyes he felt the wind dropping to a breeze stirring his hair across sweat drenched forehead, he could feel warm hands placed above his and a voice whispering into his ears, _“Minä rakastan sinua, Berwald.”_

Berwald did not know what it meant or who said it but remained in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Minä rakastan sinua, Berwald.” = I love you, Berwald


	6. My Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the Russians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suggest listening to 'Satumaa' by Reijo Taipale (Finnish Tango), it describes the atmosphere I'm trying to get at :D  
> Just an excerpt:  
> Beyond the high seas is one of the country,  
> Aavan meren tuolla puolen jossakin on maa,
> 
> Where in the far shore of happiness Laine is lapping.  
> Missä onnen kaukorantaan laine liplattaa.
> 
> Where the most beautiful flowers always shine,  
> Missä kukat kauneimmat luo aina loistettaan,
> 
> There the worries of tomorrow can be forgotten.  
> Siellä huolet huomisen voi jäädä unholaan.
> 
> Oh, if you could go to the fairy tale once,  
> Oi jospa kerran sinne satumaahan käydä vois,

**3rd February 1940**

“Hej Tino, turn the radio up will you?” Tapio walked up to Tino as he sat by an ‘illegally’ obtained radio, in the short hours of breaks between their bomb defusing session. 

“Uh no, go get your own radio.” Tino’s eyebrows furrowed, raised confusedly at why Tapio was still attempting civil conversation with him.

“Alrighty then Tin-Tin, I’ll sit next to you.” Tapio sat on the floor next to the crate where Tino was reclining languidly, distinctly away from the sunlight. “You’re not going to say anything then?

“No.”

“Tino, it wasn’t your fault that Berwald was injured and it wasn’t your fault that Kauko did not survived from his wounds…”

“....I tried everything, to save as many lives as possible but- goddammit Tapio, I’m usele-”,Tino interrupted as the emotion spilled from his heart, hands tearing into the roll of bandage he was holding before Tapio pulled him by the collar and shook him forcibly.

“Not one more word Tino! You have to stay strong okay?! Stop brooding over bloody everything and appreciate yourself!” Spittle landed near Tino’s face as Tapio wrangled him.

“Ew Tapio!”

“I’m sorry, but it was your fault.” Tapio shook him one more time before footsteps headed their way. 

“Hey, Tapio put him down.”Törni rolled his eyes at the both of them but smiled kindly at Tino. In that moment, the captain reminded Tino of his father who was also a captain.

“Sorry Captain…”

“He is right though - Väinämöinen , we need you. Don’t forget what you have done for us, now get some rest.” Törni knocked both of their heads gently before turning away towards the campfire.

“What are you, my father?” Tapio grumbled, determined to do the opposite of what Törni said.

“I heard that!”

“Tapio don’t let him down, he’ll make you bury more landmines!”

-

 “I heard you...ya know” Tapio’s gaze pierced Tino as he brushed his hands together to displace the dirt. The last mine was buried.

“Heard me what?”Tino asked cautiously, hoping it was not what he was expecting. 

“Saying the thing to Berwald, I don’t want to assume but…”

Tino stiffened and began pulling on a stray thread on his jacket before bursting under the pressure of his friend’s gaze,“Holy hell, Tapio please...I beg you do not tell him or anyone else! They’ll...put me in prison at the best!” he chewed the bottom of his lips unable to process that Tapio is capable of being prejudice . Blithe Tapio who was the epitome of the sun would get so uptight over who someone else loved.

Then a laughter interrupted his thoughts and he was ashamed for thinking of Tapio as anything but wholesomely kind.“Calm down Tino! I promise...you’re like my little brother now, I could never do that to you.”

Tino shook his head in disbelief and punched Tapio lightly on the arm.

* * *

 

  **4th February 1940**

“Incoming Swedish platoon making contact Captain!” Armo’s announcement caused a ripple of chatter among the men, they all assumed that the incoming platoon meant more supplies and more men to help on the frontline. However, their speculations at Swedish reinforcement were about to be shattered.

“How many of them reporting?”

“....23 remain out of 46 captain.”Armo placed the earpiece down quietly, disappointed to be the bearer of bad news.

“Are there any casualties?” Törni gawked at the numbers.

“Is the captain stupid?”Armo whispered to Tino, rolling his eyes.

Tino ignored him and turned to Berwald, “Hey Berwald, it seems like you can return to your people now, they’re coming.”

Berwald could see the downtrodden look in Tino’s eyes as he said this so he placed a hand on the other’s shoulder,“I don’t think I want to leave you…”

“Pardon?”

“ Väinämöinen, sorry to break your rest but get ready for the new casualties. Organise four others to help you!”

“Yes captain!” Tino stood up, gathering the scissors and his pack that was so worn by now but held strong through the adversities to help him save other people's lives. That at least was a comfort for him.

“They’ll probably join our unit for now.” Törni told the other sergeants to prepare supplies to help the incoming soldiers. Tino sighed in relief with a stab of guilt that Berwald will remain  with him for now.

* * *

 

**7th February 1940**

Lost in their own tired pondering, none of them heard the soft crunches of boots against snow as the Red Army soldier surrounded them. Tino’s head snapped up above his cover and saw the soldiers. He dropped his gaze immediately. 

“What did you see?”

”There are soldiers out there and they seem to know that we’re here. Be ready- pass on the message,'' he whispered harshly. 

The others obeyed him.  They didn’t take their larger weapons out; none of them could without alerting the other side. And then the soldiers attacked, their movements slower than the defender but lethal. 

Heaven help them when the Russian soldiers set off three grenades barely a meter away from where Tino and the others were hiding, an explosion that caught fire to their hair and clothes, sizzling away the snow on their face.

Wood splinters flew everywhere and a wreckage of a burning branch fell on their head, a wave of confusion ensued as the defenders yelled commands and curses at the attackers.  

“Quick move! Don’t forget your rifle!”

Tino placed his eyes against the sight as he was safe behind a barrel.

The Russians soldiers were already situated behind trees, waiting and aiming as well. There were little gunshots as both sides awaited to see who would make the next move, no machine guns or anti-artillery guns could be set up in that moment.

Berwald forced himself to be strong even when his head wound made his head pound, blurring his visions every few seconds. He was situated far from Tino when they got separated during the explosions, Berwald’s back resting heavily against what was left of the Captain’s quarter. A hand sneaked through the shattered ‘window’ from the wreckage and pulled him from it. In that moment both sides open fire, when the clicking of bolts against rifle rears could be systematically categorised into an unruly pattern. Berwald was slammed once, twice and a third time against a wind shelter, scattering the badly bounded branches before he kicked hard in his attacker’s face. The attacker, a broad shoulder man looked up with his strange violet eyes, faltered and dropped Berwald before he slammed an elbow into the man’s jaw. The soldier fell to the ground, got up again and responded with his own savage kick to the shin.  

“Shitting hell, where is my gun!?”

 -

Tino couldn’t feel the recoil against his shoulder, couldn’t smell the smoke rising from the barrel, he couldn’t see anything except for the silhouette of the man marked by the sight and then the man slumped forward. Four. He grimaced.

The Russians fought against whatever was thrown against them, because they didn’t know that they were fighting for lies that made them rot; because they didn’t know that the war that weaved the history of their countries had already invaded their pride and forced them to fight an unjust war. They didn’t know that they and their families were a part of a conflict that was caused by deceitful men.  

Tino had forgotten what they used to be, the losses that they shouldered broke their body and soul. And with this blindness they never thought about what they did to the people who shrivelled against their bullets or knives, they no longer questioned the empty hope that directed them.

-

Berwald aimed his pistol at the Russian soldier but the click was empty. No bullets.

The soldier’s scarf was the last thing Berwald saw before he was tackled roughly back onto the ground.

“Shit! Stop shooting me!” The soldier yelled at his comrade who accidentally shot his thigh while aiming at Berwald.

Berwald was surprised at the youthful voice he heard coming from the bloodied soldier who was a captain, looking closer the man could be no older than twenty around the same age as himself. 

Berwald seized the distraction to kick the man at where he was just shot. 

“You little-“

This time he was grabbed by the legs and tumbled over, mud slathering on his wounds as they rolled further away from the main fighting. Berwald turned around briefly and saw Tapio and another man launching vicious punches at each other, two men shooting at captain Vaino who was barking orders as he aimed back at them just as efficiently, and a haughty Russian woman aiming her pistol at Klas’ face.

"Klas!" Berwald started towards them only to be grabbed by the coat and hauled back, barely glimpsing the scene where the woman fell forward, two bullet from Tino’s rifle through her heart before he too was on the ground with sharp pebbles digging into his blood matted scalp. 

A smiling, scarred face came into view as he was thrown on the ground, and he could taste blood in his mouth as the soldier started to squeeze his throat. He tried to struggle, his clumsy gloved hands clawed and tore away the soldier’s scarf, Berwald punching upward at the man’s nose, yet he was too strong. Berwald knew he would be dead in a minute.

_‘Why the hell is this man choking me?! In the middle of a war?!'_

 He refrained from punching and rummaged in his pocket for anything sharp.

‘Yes!’ A wood carving knife.

 Berwald raised above his own throat and jammed it downwards into the soldier’s hand, and he shrieked hoarsely and fell from Berwald’s chest clutching his hands closely to his scarf. 

 Berwald could barely take in the rush of air, hacking out coughs and curling into himself.  

A minute was all he needed. 

They were both up, and as the soldier scrambled up to meet him, he moved in stopping short at the click of a pistol against his forehead.

 Berwald went numb, slouching as he stared past the gun into the eyes of the soldier, whose own hands were bleeding and shaking from the incision. Their eyes met in a flurry of anger, the pulsating hatred spurred by adrenaline moments earlier withered away as they stood there. Cold sweat dripped from his flaxen hair the splashes diluting sludge like blood, as his vision blurred once more the wind howled louder muffling all noises from the external battle. Finally Berwald bowed his head and griped, “Do it.”

Berwald’s head was forced back as the pistol was pressed harder onto his forehead. As he accepted his fate, tumbling around his minds were fragments of memories of Tino, of his crooked smile, his tired eyes ringed with dark bags, his unfaltering bravery, courage, compassion and the oh so gentle hands that has saved his life more than once.

“Stop Ivan!” Tino was there once again, ready to save Berwald’s sorry ass. 

“Oh…it’s you Tino. Fancy seeing you here.” Ivan’s voice did not hold the cheeriness that his casual statement implied. The silence that endured was uncomfortably long until Berwald coughed loudly.

“War discriminates against the poor.”The Finnish man only pulled off the safety of his rifle,  aiming it at Ivan’s head. 

 “You’ve lost Ivan. I’m letting you go, get away from here!” Tino’s voice shook but he held his rifle firmly in position, his index finger caressing the trigger, the muzzle pointed at Ivan accusingly.

“You don’t have a bullet, the cartridge is destroyed. Your rifle’s bolt is to the rear. The barrel is bent.” Ivan smiled slyly, his sharp eyes darting from Berwald’s form, to Tino’s grimacing face and finally to inspect the gun even from far away. Tino could feel his plans unravelling before his eyes, he did not want to hurt Ivan and the memories of their childhood flashed before his eyes. Tino remember taking Ivan’s arm and dragging him to one of the wooden bridge facing out towards the stagnant lake near their village, the northern and southern wind competed with each other, rays of sunlight bouncing upon the lake creating a cascade of cerulean hues reflected on their face. They smiled at each other. The memory fell apart and Ivan stood there with that same smile, this time crueller than Tino remembered.

“Ivan please don’t…for old friendship's sake.”

“Bloody hell Tino, I don’t even know why I’m fighting anymore if I’m letting my enemy go.”

 Their exchange distracted them from the battle that was over, Tino’s unit held out and drove back the Russian soldier from the campsite. They stood in a standoff at the very edge of the campsite when another soldier ran passed them, his arms held over his head in defeat.

“Comrade Braginsky! We have to retreat!”

“You go first! Don’t shoot these men, they’re my prey.” Ivan commanded firmly and the soldier nodded, turning to his limping comrade to pull him away from the incoming pursuing Finnish soldiers.

“Please Ivan, I’m begging you don’t hurt him…”

“It is late for that.”

“Comrade, we need to go!” Another Russian soldier ran pass, his arms held limp by his side blood staining the green khaki jacket. 

Ivan sighed and adjusted his aim to ground behind Berwald’s head, “Tino’s friend, you’re going to pretend to fall over when I shoot the ground next to you. I can’t risk being accused.”

“Do it.” Berwald could feel the coil in his stomach untwisting as he grinned at the Russian man, a gesture of friendliness that was difficult for Berwald to produce but he was too relieved to care. 

“Thank you.” Tino placed his hands over his heart to calm himself.

“Tino and…um, Swede…I’m sorry for what happened,” Ivan pulled the trigger and turned to bolt into the mass of trees, Berwald slumped forward as the bullet embedded itself into the ground behind him and the casing clinked onto the rock where Ivan was moments earlier. Hitting the ground seems to be his new occupation during this war.

“Berwald! You’re alright?!” Tino stumbled across the growth of moss where Berwald had keeled over, his thick soled boots trampling over the small flowers but Tino did not care until Berwald was safe. 

“I’m okay Tino.”

“Hmm, Ivan isn’t that much of a shithead then.” Tino’s hand brushed Berwald’s face, their contact sent tingles up Berwald’s spine and so he ran his hands down Tino’s cheek tucking away a stray strand of hair. 

Like that time when Berwald found Tino by crates after he broke his promise and killed someone with a gun, their gaze met and like the blinking sun above them. They did not falter as warmth washed away all doubts in their hearts,

 “You need to tell me more about him one day….Um Tino, there’s something I need to ask you...What does ‘Minä rakastan sinua ’ mean?”

Tino with an amused look on his face, raised his eyebrows, ”It means ‘I love you’.” 

"Did you say that to me when I was injured?"

"Of course, idiot. I love you Berwald."

Berwald frowned, then smiled, then frowned again his eyebrows twisting weirdly as he tried comprehending that his true love was requited. 

“Berwald stop making faces!” Tino turned around making sure they were along before he was bold enough to lean forward and press his lips against Berwald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I love Ivan.
> 
> Some reference to the battles that occured around this time as well;
> 
> 'In February the Soviet forces began bombarding the front lines at Summa with artillery fire. On the morning of 11 February, the attack began along the whole front of the exhausted 3rd Division. The Soviets had concentrated nine divisions and five armoured brigades of the 7th Army at Summa. The Finnish lines broke on 13 February and the forces retreated to the Intermediate Line (Väliasema).' -wikipedia


	7. Näkemiin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In war we all died at some point, even those who survived to the end have lost something important enough to be branded as a dead man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is time to listen to.... :  
> 'Näkemiin' by Henry Theel  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBHO5lNz1ms  
> This is like 'Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart' but in Finnish

**3 March 1940**

It was their last day together and Berwald could confidently say that his Finnish has improved, three months spent under the usually absent sun fighting for Finnish soil and what resulted was a blooming friendship with his dear Tino. So many lives were lost on both sides yet there was no victor, death renders the victor and loser mute till both sides know not who was whom.

“You’re going away? The war is almost over though…”

“The higher ups are callin' us back.”Berwald held Tino's hand, pressing a kiss to it before looking up at the familiar face that he will dearly miss. Tino's eyes was still that same burnished blue that flashed violet at different angles, now they soaked in the sunset and his crooked smile was one that orders you to return it. Despite the small scars that littered the sides of his face, Berwald has never seen someone more beautiful and he has never been so upset to leave a war. 

“Has it been three months already? Time flies so fast when you are with a friend.”Tino mumbled, trying to uphold his smile even as he felt as if his heart was being torn from his chest at the news that Berwald is leaving.

“Where d’you live, if you don’t mind me asking. When the war ‘s over I’ll come to see you again.”

“Of course! Go to Ylläsjärvi, nearer to Torpanoja though. Ask for my ma, mother of Tino Väinämöinen. She used to live in Sweden you know, so you can speak to her!” he perked up immediately at the chance of seeing Berwald soon. 

“Will ya’ be alright here?”

“We’ve shown them that we’re good fighters, they’re probably scared shitless by now.”

“You didn’t answer th’question Tino”

“I’ll be fine Berwald. I’ll miss you so much...”, Tino’s heart leapt into his throat, never has he found it difficult to speak to someone he know and love, ”...please write to me.”

“I will. We have something of each other. I, yer coat and you, m’ scarf.”

“You better keep that darn coat clean Berwald Oxenstierna!” Tino tugged on the collar of his coat, brushing off something imaginary, “Olin onnekas saadessani tavata sinut... ”

“ Ja min älskling. ..,”Berwald brushed his hands on Tino’s cheeks, his heart tumbling furiously as the space between them disappeared, his lips on Tino’s forehead trailing kisses down his flushed face until lips on lips, they shared a tender kiss. In the cover of the night they can be in love with each other, even if Berwald feared that this was their last day on Earth together.

Tino grinned blithely as they broke off the kiss his hand still resting on Berwald's chest feeling his warmth slipping through the woollen coat. The curve of his lips and the animated joy glinting in his eyes made the stoic man break into a pleased smile that looked comical on his face. But Tino would love no one more, his handsome Swedish soldier whose kindness had no place in this war, of course Berwald at that moment thought of the same thing regarding Tino. 

“We'll meet again.” Berwald said finally. 

_“Näkemiin Berwald.”_

_“ Hej då Tino.”_

The hope that they will see each other kept their hearts light even as they departed.

The war was not over yet.

* * *

 

**5 March 1940**

A bullet embedded itself onto Tino’s shoulder, and his body thrown backward onto a pile of rubble by the bullet’s force. Peisso Kyllo crumbled to the ground next to him, bullet punctures drawing blood from his thigh. Tino discarded his useless Luger pistol and grabbed a Tokarev from the corpse of a Soviet soldier.

“Peisso hang on mate. You’re alright?!” Tino rushed to his side, wrapping his arms around Peisso to support him from falling. Tino dragged him back behind the fighting line into a shallow foxhole almost struck by a loose friendly fire from Captain Torni, the fighting continued behind them.

“Y-yeah, the bloody bastard got me in the leg,” Peisso coughed a strangled reply. Tino did not even noticed the bullets in Peisso’s chest until blood began spewing from his nose and exuding from his mouth. There was no way to save the dead man. 

His eyes rolled wildly, his blood stained hands reaching out desperately to grab hold of Tino’s hands, Peisso squeezed Tino’s hand painfully tight as the agony overcame his adrenaline. Tino’s own shoulders forgotten as he tried calming down the crying man who only wanted his mother by his side.

“Peisso, it’s okay...it’s okay! You’re going to be fine....shh...shh”, Tino’s other hand brushed away Peisso’s hair, pressing a hanky to his sweat drenched forehead.

“Lemme take over.” Armo gently nudge Tino to the side, taking time to pray for the man who was passing away in front of him.

* * *

 

**6 March 1940**

With the sweltering sun above Tino could only crawl to where his friend struggled weakly on the ground, mud squelched in his ears and his hands tore into the tangles of roots, “Please, please I beg you! Live, Tapio you fat head!”, Tino grunted and pulled himself next to Tapio’s side, gripping his still warm hand tightly but he would not stir except for the fluttering of his eyelashes. 

“I-I’ll carry you back. You’re doing fine Tapio!” Tino muttered determinedly as he braced his legs, applying pressure to Tapio’s wound where he could. He had already tied the grey scarf Berwald gifted him around Tapio’s leg as a makeshift tourniquet but that did little to help when he was choking in his own blood.

“I want-t-uh... you to know t-that-”Tapio began as tears formed in the corners of his eyes. Tino lurched upwards slinging Tapio over his shoulder.

“Shut up! Tapio, you’re not doing this!”, Tino gripped him tighter, sprinting towards the campsite even as carmine blood soaked both their uniforms.

“Tino, shut up! let me-”, Tapio shuddered as his punctured lungs ruptured and his life gave way in Tino’s arms. Tiino screamed, begged, grovelled but nothing brought Tapio back to life. If Death was watching, even he would have pitied Tino’s state. The sun rose with Tino still clutching his friend’s lifeless body, sobbing into his hair and harrowing his raw knuckles at the rocks. A fugitive of his own grief. 

 Slowly his unit passed on from this perdition, first was Armo who spoke to him when he was first posted, whose last moment was spent quaking and mumbling in cold sweat as a result of dysentery. He could finally returned to his family. Then, Jere Mäkinen encountered a mine, next was Henri Jonna who lost a leg and survived, but infection took him just as quickly.

Tino could no longer cry for all the lives that were lost in the last few weeks of the war. 

Captain Törni himself began to lose hope. 

* * *

 

  **10 March 1940**

Finnish, Russians, Swedish, Hungarian and the others. Their faces and names were blurs against hazier skies dimmed by lack of stars as the light from these poor souls depart into the world beyond that of mankind. Perhaps they will find the poem that Tino wrote in the wake of night as the Russians and Finnish struggled to hold their territory, in the shrubs where they stationed through countless nights of losses and victories. With his trusty rifle held across his chest and adrenaline fueled fingers scribbled down his experiences of the battle raged overhead. Tino’s pencil broke on the last word as a grenade detonated near where he crouched, after messily scribbling his name and the date Tino stuffed the poem into an envelope placing it in the side pocket of his shirt before inserting ten more cartridge into a dented rifle of an unknown soldier, his own rifle, ‘Bertie’, was lost amongst hastily discarded belongings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do it! :D  
> 'Näkemiin' by Henry Theel  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBHO5lNz1ms
> 
> * (Olen onnekas tavannut sinut )x- I'm lucky to have met you  
> So the original phrase was fixed by DREVtheProcrastinator  
> "Olen onnekas, että olen tavannut sinut" or "Olen onnekas, että tapasin sinut" or maybe even "Olen onnekas, että sain tavata sinut" or "Olin onnekas saadessani tavata sinut",  
> I just chose one of the phrase. 
> 
> *Ja min älskling - yes my love
> 
> Also I should have included Hungary in this fic, 'When the Winter War broke out between Finland and the Soviet Union, many Hungarians felt great sympathy towards the Finns and wanted to help them.' During the Winter War, around 25,000 Hungarian men applied to fight in Finland; finally, 350 applications were accepted. -Wikipedia


	8. The Sweet North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nature of malady was evasive and in this moment one does take the time to realise that they too will one day be trashed because their burden becomes too heavy for others to share. - This isn't a summary sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Finnish song!  
> 'Missä muruseni on' by Jenni Vartiainen
> 
> Tell me about my love, tell me how I miss it  
> Kerro rakkauteni, kerro kuinka ikävöin
> 
> Tell me I'm still waiting for him  
> Kerro, häntä ootan yhä vaan

Berwald sought out Ylläsjärvi, where Tino said his house was, he had spent a week travelling back and forth to the crowded tavern where he met some people from his old platoon who joined him in his alcoholic endeavours. Yet he could not find Tino or his parents as Torpanoja was obscure even for the locals. 

Berwald was rather nervous, his eyes darted quickly to guide him along the quiet street that was when he noticed the silence. Tino’s one letter arrived a week after he returned to Sweden but no more arrived even at the end of the Winter War.

_ ‘Please let him live, dear Lord I beg of you.’ _

_ ‘No ...what the hell? No!’  _

This couldn’t be happening, but everything fitted into place perfectly. The lack of words from Tino, the finality of the goodbyes. The woman who must be Tino’s mother stood propping a basket of washing against her waist. The thick wooden door was charred black with shards of glass swept neatly into the cracks of the walls in an attempt to clean up. Berwald couldn’t move, his eyes would not focus and he had to grasp a passing tree to steady himself.

A man in a wheelchair would not look at him, his gaze wandering into tumults of tree at the edge of their home, searching for birds whose chittering reminded the father of his son who has not returned from the war.

“If you’re looking for him….”

* * *

 

  _Crumbling cottages lined the dandelion covered hills_

_ With an uneven path leading to where a southerly creek roamed _

_ Whose quiet trickling never falter and carried, _

_ Rumours that he was finally returning home. _

__

_ Wheat ricks gathered by absent workmen were stagnant,  _

_ As if time was frozen in wait for their union. _

_ Swans cry as they watch the new day arrive, _

_ Soaring on sturdy wings in the morning sun. _

__

_ Two twinflowers danced a polka in a burning pit _

_ As their indigo petals curled under the fiery touch, _

_ Casted inside by young lovers on midsummer’s eve _

_ Under the gradient sky their promises had us believe. _

__

_ The mothers emptied the ashes by the roots of a gnarled tree  _

_ Whose branches coiled and crooked hands gathered _

_ The remnants of ruined twinflowers to its ancient heart. _

_ They asked the tree ,“Why?”, it said, “Our children have departed” _

__

_ The tree whose fathomless roots extended into dry earth _

_ Stood by its evergreen neighbours who mocked and towered, _

_ Sagged, brought down the heavy boughs of dying leaves, _

_ Its lichen covered skin crumbling in the new colder winter. _

__

_ He planted lilies-of-the-valley and like the twinflowers _

_ they crackled and groaned. Even the kind tree shuddered, _

_ It’s withering hand trembled against bitterness of ice. _

_ Today what comes must go, to die, or live until the morrow. _

__

_ There were flaxen wheat fields, that sullen wind strewn _

_ And whistled across, a blue crossed flag lay discarded _

_ Next to the grenades we tacitly wielded alight.  _

_ Yet the circle of suffering was completed, just right.  _

_ The mothers raised their heads, when the sky turned dark _

_ The songs of their sons travelled far, so they harked. _

_ But even when our blood branded this dear fatherland, _

_ Till our last breath, for the Sweet North our soul do stand. _

__

_ There was once a blue sky that clouds did not cross _

_ Not one twinflower was burned, no lives were lost. _

* * *

 

They called it the ‘Winter War’ and Berwald did not scoff at the name this time, it fitted like a two-pieced jigsaw. The war was over one year ago. This winter Berwald was by himself. The booming voice of his brash cousin, Matthias, was irritating in the background but he blocked it out instead of picking a fight. 

Snowflakes filtered through the gaps in-between Berwald’s eyelashes, coming to a rest on his gloved hands. He squinted at the sun through damaged glasses and remembered a person who shone brighter than all the stars in the universe. Berwald’s thick wool coat, with his embroidered initials, sat on his shoulder drooping as if missing the hands of its maker. 

_ ‘Yes, I miss him too’ _ , Berwald thought to himself.

__

_ The end _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Missä muruseni on' by Jenni Vartiainen
> 
> The poem was the one that was written by Tino last chapter.
> 
> The treaty ending the Winter War forced Finland to cede 11 percent of its territory to the Soviet Union, yet the country maintained its independence and later squared off against Russia a second time during World War II. - Wikipedia
> 
> I should have written the other nordics into this story but it is in the same universe as 'A Dark Sunrise, a Blue Sunset' and Denmark and Norway have their own grievances there.  
> Some of the dumb dialogues in this story came from personal experience during my cadet exercises so you know there's always some bit of truths in our unruly world. 
> 
> In the end thank you for reading through :D special thanks to those who commented, really spurred me on to finish and gave me courage to see this fic through. I owe you my...honour i guess, BUT REALLY THANK YOU SO MUCH


End file.
